Pilgrim's Trench
by Kittybreaad
Summary: A short story on the location 'Pilgrim's Trench.' Shelly, Your ship should have arrived weeks ago and I fear the worst has happened. I've set up camp on this rock as your ship should pass by here and hopefully one of these days we'll be together again. If you're reading this I'm probably out hunting or bringing in some supplies. I'll be waiting here until I see your face again.


_"Mercy's not a shipmate among_  
 _that heartless horde..."_

* * *

The sound of crates and boxes woke the young Breton from her late slumber. Everyone was already on deck, carrying out their duties on the ship. The line of beds were empty, blankets folded and pillows flattened, not a soul to be seen from inside. She glimpsed into the porthole. The morning sun shone brightly over the waves and icebergs slowly float in the water. Realising she was the only one in the forecastle, the adolescent sailor propped out of bed, neatly tucked in her furs, and dashed onto the deck to handle the cargo.

"You slept like a baby," Balgron said once she rushed outside, hauling a crate towards the stowage. The giant Orc towering the rest of the crew was the quartermaster, strict and intimidating, carrying out orders from the captain. The Breton grunted as the crate fell into her arms, and she stacked the box onto another barrel.

"You could've woke me," she answered groggily, dizzy from the sudden motions of darting out of the berth. She inhaled the fresh scent of the sea, as she was accustomed to the mould and stagnant bilge water that seeped through the hull.

The Orc chuckled for a moment. "Yeah, we let you slide since you was seasick last night."

"Captain," a voice whined from below the deck. Out came the carpenter, Macken. Seeing the captain wasn't on prow, they instead glanced at the quartermaster for guidance. "'ave a look in 'ere, sumfink is wrong." Another head popped up from the ladder. His brother, the boatswain, nodded in agreement. The elves glanced at Balagron for help, sweat and dirt sticking to their faces. "You was a carpenter before, I fink it's fine though," said Nug, Macken's twin.

As soon as she finished heaving the rest of the cargo, she followed Balagron below the deck. They inspected the bulkheads, only to see fresh water leaking into the soggy wood. "Have Amélie take a look at that. Next time, don't bother me with those trifles."

Nug and Macken nodded in sync. "Naaaah, told you Mack, I ain't stupid. It's no problem," said Nug to his brother, scanning the water seeping into the wood. "Nope, nevermind. That's a problem." The twins obligatorily swivel their heads to Amélie, parting their lips to remorselessly nag her. Before they could do so, she hurried up the slanted ladder to the deck and examined the firkins, barrels that held mainly fish.

Amélie's the cooper of the ship, breaks down barrels and repairs them if they're ever in need of repairing, such as this occasion. As an extra job, she handles and transports cargo: food, drink, furs, fish, loot, all organised in crates and barrels. The fourteen-year-old Breton has sailed with the crew all her life, since she was an urchin.

Perching onto a chair to take apart the barrel staves, she sat beside Swim-in-Ice, the navigator. He's useful to making sure the anchor isn't stuck on a trench, which happens way too often. He usually spends his time in the crow's nest with Hazu'u, a Khajiit, or tending the hawser. The main ship hauls other boats smaller than the craft, mainly for storage and emergency.

A loud clink of metal is heard from the galley, then jingles of utensils. The members don't mind the noise, the clumsy Imperial in the kitchen always makes a racket. It's basically a daily routine in the morning.

"Breakfast is ready," bellowed Bard from the galley. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, potato peels sticking to his chef uniform. Everyone pauses their duty to take a break, all gathering in the saloon. Amélie neatly sets the wooden staves beside the partially-cut up barrel, following Swim-in-Ice into the lounge.

Bowls of potato soup and meat are scattered onto the table, loaves of bread lining up in the centre, along with a mortar of butter. Bottles of ale and mead stand beside tankards and pewter mugs, one for each person.

"Where's Captain?" asked Hazu'u, the rigger. He rips his sharp teeth into the meat, nails digging into the skin. Although his claws recline a bit, he needs to wear gloves to furl and release the sails. And since it is the most dangerous job, Hazu'u has a higher chance of clinging to the wood with his claws if he manages to plummet down a slippery spar. In other words, _not_ die.

Balgron rips into the meat, and chews thoughtfully before answering. "Still in the cabin, writing a letter. The captain will be out in a few."

"Hey, who's turn is it to swab the deck?" inquired Macken, consuming a slightly mashed potato.

Bard poured mead into a tankard, wiping his nose with his shoulder. "Dunno, ask Balgro."

"Yeeeah, Balgro, who's turn is it?" the twins asked Balgron, who shrugged. The blood flag can be seen from the cracks of the deck, swaying in the wind, indicating the ship means no harm.

Swim-in-Ice licked his lips. "It's your turn, nimrods," he asserted irritably, annoyed of the twins' rambling. He reached for a carrot in the harvest barrel and gnawed on the point.

"Yeah, I did it last week," clarified Amélie, cutting a loaf of bread in half. Her pewter mug was filled with milk and honey, being too young to drink alcohol. "Actually, it's Nug's turn to swab the deck, and Macken needs to scrub the bulkheads."

"Yer mean!" the twins cried in sync, and the saloon was filled with laughter. Minutes later, the Captain descended the ladder, and the crew raised their cups, acknowledging the presence of the leader.

"Captain Shelly..." Amélie raised her eyebrows, mouth full with bread. She chewed and swallowed in disbelief. "Is that a ring around your finger?"

The gang cheered and whistled at a blushing captain. As much as she tried hiding the ring, everyone had already distinguished the small piece of jewelry. "Aye," said Shelly. "A trinket Trius gave me before we left."

"So you gettin married?" Bard asked, gulping down mead. Shelly nodded, and the lounge was loud with merry.

"You'll get married in this ship, yes?" Hazu'u questioned, and Captain Shelly nodded. Swim-in-Ice laughed, eyeing her ring once more.

"Thanks to the clumps of ice blocking the main path, we were delayed a week. Now we're set to dock on the coast, past the Eye of Talos," she explains, ripping the tender meat. "Trius may be waiting for us."

"Funny thing is, he's a bandit mage," Swim-in-Ice chuckled lightly, finishing the last of his ale. "Two barbarians, perfect for each other."

"Yeah, well, Trius don't know a thing bout boats, so he'd just be throwin up all over the deck," Amélie jested, curling hair behind her ear.

The lizard simpered. "Good. More chores for Nug and Macken."

Nug darted a scowl to Swim-in-Ice while Macken whinged in his seat. Hazu'u sucked on a bone, tongue searching for nourishing marrow. Captain Shelly helped herself to broth, contentedly pouring chunks of steamed vegetables into her potato soup.

"Look who finally decided to join the party," Bard laughed, blond bed hair sending cowlicks in different directions.

"Brynjaaar," Amélie sang, greeting the old man who had arrived into the saloon. An eyepatch lay upon his left eye, creating a threatening appearance to the Nord.

"Who're you?" asked Macken, and Nug harshly elbowed him in the rib.

The bulking pirate laughed. "I'm Brynjar. Perhaps you've forgotten about me - I watch the three ships following this one. I forgot, Macken is new to this galleon."

Captain Shelly nodded, taking her eyes off the plate. "Brynjar's rarely seen here, since he makes sure other swashbuckles don't mistaken this ship for a hostile group. That's why we have a blood flag."

"Blood flags signal we're only here for long journeys and trade," explained Shelly. "No prisoners, no trouble."

"Ah, but if those barbarians don't get the message, that's where I come in." Brynjar proudly points to himself. "I'm the sentinel on this ship. If they attack, I return the favour."

Macken turns his head, gaping at the eyepatch. "You lost an eye?"

"By the gods, of course not! My eyes are precious, yes they are," Brynjar placed his hand over the patch. "This is to keep one eye adjusted to darkness while boarding another ship. I ransack below the deck. No light, no nothin. That, my boy, is why I have this eyepatch. Don't wanna trip on a treasure chest or a prisoners's corpse, would ya?"

"Smart," says Amélie.

"Aye," replies the matelot, smug and pleased with himself. "It takes minutes for an eye to adjust to the dark. Me? Nope."

Swim-in-Ice finished the last of his broth. "Yes, seeing those savages run into walls - cutlasses and scimitars in their grasp - very amusing."

Brynjar nodded again. "Aye, amusing indeed. Looks menacing, does it not?"

"Yeah," the crew agreed simultaneously. Brynjar perched by Balgron, the two most threatening members of the Pilgrim corps.

Their bellies full and thirst quenched, they placed their platters and mugs into the wash bin, where Bard cleans the dishes with a wash rag. He carried the basin into the galley, Brynjar returned to the three ships, occasionally fastening the hawser, ensuring the boats won't float away (dragging him along) out in the middle of the Sea of Ghosts.

When the twins weren't occupied tending the hull of the galleon, they performed their chores. Nug swabbed the deck, removing access mould, skeever droppings, baby frostbite spiderwebs, and swept dust from the floorboards. Macken scrubbed the bulkheads and replaced the planks with barrel staves Amélie pried apart, unfastening nails that connected the waterlogged lumber together.

Hazu'u climbed up the mast and onto the crow's nest, effortlessly balancing on the scaffolding. Swim-in-Ice remained on the deck instead of the crow's nest, hands gripped on the helm to steer the ship.

Amélie prevented a barrique full of expensive wine from leaking, transported from Cyrodiil to High Rock, then given to Captain Shelly's sailors.

She repaired another firkin full of salmon and ground-up ice wraith teeth to preserve it, careful not to let it spoil.

Balgron, the quartermaster, who was also a doctor, bandaged Macken's gashed bicep from a hiding skeever after casting a healing spell, then forced him to drink a disease potion, in case he caught Ataxia. The little creature was thrown into the sea after his miserable death.

After Nug swab the deck, he tossed the bucket aside. Captain Shelly frequently watched her legs tremble nervously and in excitement to seeing her fiancé, unfolding her map several times to confirm they're in the correct route.

After scrutinising the area, the College of Winterhold can be made out through the thick fog, over the high mountains, the only solace she has to reassure herself they're almost home.

Brynjar gnawed on a piece of wheat, watching the skies. Pale blue, with a brush of clouds. The College stood out above the fog, small parts of the bridge crumbled in the water. As the old man grew tired of staring at the sky, he shifted his position to glance at the water, foot resting on the thwart. The small boat passed by a wedge of ice, following another iceberg that greatly increased in size. He intently stared into the water, peering into his red reflection.

A rambunctious noise interrupted the captain's string of thought, occasionally playing with the trinket. She jolted up from her chair, a maiden's personality now replaced with a strict, sadistic captain. Fingers dancing on helve of her cutlass, she sped out of her cabin.

"What's the matter, Bryn?" Amélie pressed in concern. The whole crew gathers at the amidship, waiting for an explanation.

Hazu'u slid down the mast, claws leaving a line on the wood. His ears twitch as he breathes heavily. "You see it too, Brynjar?"

"Aye," the pirate said, anxious. "Lad, steer the ship to the west," he commanded Hazu'u, then rushed to the twins. "You two, make this ship lighter and faster. Amélie, break down the barrels and use the scraps to make it stronger."

Captain Shelly dashed in the centre of the Imperial Galleon. "What is it?"

"Miss," Brynjar breathed, clearing his raspy throat. "There's blood in the water."

Shelly's eyes widen and her pupils dilate. The next moment, she's angrily furrowing her eyebrows in distress. "Damn it!" she curses. "Bryn - "

"On it," he said, then motions to Swim-in-Ice. "We're doing the underwater procedure."

The lizard nodded, then gathered a satchel full of waterbreathing potions for Brynjar, since he has the ability to breathe underwater. The two dive into the freezing sea, heading towards a nearby ship.

"Captain, what's happening?" asked Amélie, wasting no time in taking apart the barrels and crates.

"Amélie..." Captain Shelly muttered, clenching her fists. "Listen to me. If you survive, please take this trinket to my fiancé."

"But Cap - "

"What we're dealing with is the Pirate King. The Pirate King of the Abecean," Captain Shelly agitatedly ran her fingers through dirty-blonde hair. "So you better follow my gods damn instructions, you hear?"

Amélie nodded frantically, although she didn't know what to do. Captain Shelly took off Truis' trinket, then dropped it in the young girl's hand. "But what do I do?"

"Brynjar, SwimInIce, and I will hold them off. The rest of you will sail to the coast of the Eye of Talos. My fiancé may be waiting for me, but if he isn't, go to the direction for Winterhold. Be careful," Shelly demanded, then plunged into the water. Her figure can be seen, appearing and disappearing through the blankets of ice, until she reached the bilge of the Pirate King's ship.

The boat nearby reeked of copper and rotten corpses. Amélie watched the savages sail closer to theirs, overwhelmed by the atrocious stench. She spun around, cutlass unsheathed, only to be cornered by an Argonian, appearance similar to Swim-in-Ice's.

"I am a Shadowscale, there is _no_ escape from me," the lizard emphasized, tongue slithering like a serpent's. "Tell me, where's your precious treasure?"

He wield a smaller weapon, but it swung rapidly. His blade was not only quick, but the lizard's movements were swift as well, that Amélie only pictured a shadow coming towards her.

Before coming in contact with metal, a cat leaped from the side and tackled the Argonian to the ground. Amélie didn't waste a second. She jumped into action, and searched for a perfect spot, careful not to stab Hazu'u. The Breton then impaled his stomach, scales oozing with thick black blood. Hazu'u flew off and silenced the Shadowscale with a slit to the neck.

"Are you all right?" he asked, blood on his fur. Amélie nodded. "Come, let's see how Nug and Macken are doing."

The two hopped down beneath the deck to meet the twins. A trail of blood stained the ground, along with a splatter on the bulkhead. Upon seeing this, they readied their weapons.

"I told yer sorry ass, Mack!" Nug's voice was heard from the fo'c'sle, firm and clearly nettled. "Now Balgro'll be vexed once he sees yer damn belly."

As they turned the corner, Macken is halfway on the bed, blood pouring from his side. An Argonian is on the ground, back covered in gashes. Nug has armed himself with a lantern.

Another lizard appeared from the escape hatch. "That's how they've been gettin in!" Amélie cried out, pointing to the open porthole. Nug took the lantern and swung it at the amphibian's head, creating a serious concussion, then death. The elf twin breathed heavily, clenching his bloody lamp. "Amélie, Hazu!" he shouted, his wheezing subsiding into a relieved sigh.

Hazu'u fastened the escape hatch, then helped Amélie transport the body onto the door. "C'mon, let's get Macken to Balgron," she told them all. Macken wrapped his arms around Nug and Amélie, leaving Hazu'u to defend for them. "He's above the quarterdeck!"

"Where is that?" shouted Nug.

"The poopdeck!" she answered, dragging Macken to the Orc.

Balgron is fighting off a Redguard that is dual-wielding two scimitars. "Why is it even called the poopdeck?" asked Nug as they hauled Macken onto a chair to assist Balgron. Amélie pointed upwards, seeing hawks fly over the ship and to a warmer place, possibly Morthal. Once the hawks passed by, a dropping of dung fell from the sky and landed right onto the Redguard's eye. During this distraction, Balgron heaves his claymore in the air, and splatters his assailant's head to a pulp. "Oh," Nug muttered thoughtfully.

"Balgro!" he whined, beckoning him to his brother. "Mack's been stabbed while you was away."

The Orc pulled out a health potion from his knapsack. "Drink."

Macken does as he is told, and the bleeding stops, but still has a deep laceration. A contusion is forming on Balgron's tricep from his battle, but he payed no heed to it, and fixed his attention to the elf. He rummaged through his knapsack, bottles clinking and dinging as he finally found another potion. Balgro poured it over Macken's wound, sending him in a fit of pain.

More of the Pirate King's sailors entered the pilgrim's ship, and surrounded the remaining members of the crew. An explosion of inferno fired at the pirates, sending them flying back into the icy water. Bard appeared from the galley, a fireball held in his palms. Before he can launch another spell, a large ship abruptly crashed into their's.

The impact knocked the boat into the iceberg, destroying the ship. The crew was thrown into the air, the twins being forced through the water. "Nug! Macken!" shrieked Amélie. "Balgro!" A stake swiftly darted at the Orc's chest during the crash. Balgron pulled out the wood, grunting.

Hazu'u used his claws to stay put, but dislocated his shoulder once he flew back. Amélie's right eye formed a shady green and purple once a piece of debris struck her eyelid as a result from the collision. Their ship was plowed into the iceberg - the elf twins must have gotten crushed under the weight.

The Breton had no time to boot, grief had to come about later on. She helped up Balgron and Hazu'u to their feet, albeit her lack of depth perception hindered her ability to walk. She stumbled over a crate, but Hazu'u caught her with his one useful arm, preventing her from falling on her face.

A gangplank crashed onto the prow, falling onto the corpse of Bard. From the ship, a Dremora stepped across the plank and over Bard, as if he was a matt. The Pirate King snickered, the Hammerfell garb matching his crew. A fresh scar is clearly visible on his cheek, blood mixing with his war paint. It pained Amélie to realise that slash had been caused by Brynjar's sword. It was a shame - he was comical, helpful, and a guard of this ship.

"I am Captain Velehk Sain, Pirate King of the Abecean," said the Dremora. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance..."

A grin spread on his lips, although it was more of a smirk than a genuine smile. It didn't at all reach his eyes. In return, the last of the three pilgrims all sent their reguard with a scowl.

"What do you want?" snarled Amélie, raising her sword in the air.

Hazu'u stood near the pretentious Breton, and whispered, "Don't. Crossing blades with him would be suicide - a death wish."

Balgron clenched his fists, hands fastened around the hilt of his claymore. "Balgro..." Amélie muttered quietly, grasping his sleeve. The Orc quickly glanced at the cooper. "I'm sorry, Amé, but I've held in my temper long enough. This bastard needs to die."

Hazu'u and Amélie observe Balgron as he unexpectedly swung the broadsword towards Velehk. Every second of movement, the ship is sliding against the iceberg, slightly sinking.

"Balgron!" cried Amélie, reaching her hand to the quartermaster. His claymore struck Velehk's shoulder, but the force of the impact was reduced. He turned, grabbed the helve, and stabbed a scimitar through the wound on Balgron's chest. The Orc crashed into the water, Velehk feeling content once he hears a noisy splash.

"Would anyone else like to join?" he simpered, twirling the scimitars around two fingers. "Both of us - half our crew was wiped out. We're on the same boat. Literally."

Hazu'u's glare didn't fade, and instead transformed into a growl, along with Amélie's. "Well then, it's time to end your miserable little lives. Any last words?"

"Get the hell off my ship," a stern voice snarled above. A limp figure stood by the prow. Captain Shelly's eye had been ruthlessly gouged out, and almost half her arm was sadistically severed. She spun the helm, crashing the enemy ship into hers. Velehk fell from the gangplank, and disappeared into the water. Captain Shelly gave the last of her sailors a weak smile before collapsing.

As another result, Hazu'u was compressed and punctured by stakes of wood as he shielded Amélie from painfully slamming into the water, breaking her fall. Balgron was seen underwater, a boat split in half due to his weight. Only one ship remained clean under the sea.

Amélie's lungs burned for oxygen. She pried the cat off her back, verifying the trinket was still in her hand. It wasn't laying on her palm.

She attempted to search for the ring, but the sides of her vision began to fade to black each second she didn't receive fresh air. Amélie closed her eyes once the flesh on her body began to freeze. At first, she was debating on whether she should frantically move around to lose more air - resolving a quicker death - but the sight of her friends stopped the thought from happening. Scaly arms then embraced her, and she was thrown onto the emergency boats.

Amélie woke to an urgent warning to vomit, and she did so to the side. Her neck was sore from resting her head on the thwart, along with her throbbing eye.

The young sailor forced herself onto the ice, using an oar to support her weight. She swallowed gasps of oxygen once all the access water had been forced out of her system, and finally, she could breathe. Amélie suppressed her bitter weeping - she needed to search for Trius's camp. To the south, her eyes wandered to a weak fire already beginning to die down. Only a line of smoke remained.

Despite tripping several times, bruising her numbed skin, she managed to find a note resting on an empty barrel. A skeleton rest on a bedroll, much to the girl' horror.

She split the cardinal decoration in half that sealed the letter, and unfolded it neatly, although her fingers couldn't function properly.

 _"Shelly,_

 _Your ship should have arrived weeks ago and I fear the worst has happened. I've set up camp on this rock as your ship should pass by here and hopefully one of these days we'll be together again. If you're reading this I'm probably out hunting or bringing in some supplies. I'll be waiting here until I see your face again._

 _Faithfully yours,_  
 _Trius"_

The note couldn't be more heartbreaking - Amélie began to sob. The only solace she was given with was the bedroll and last bits of warmth from the fire. Winterhold can be seen in the distance, miles from the shipwreck. She wondered if Velehk even made it out alive. Maybe he returned to the planes of Oblivion - perhaps even the Void.

A figure was far off into the imaginary skyline, just across the camp. It had a horned head, and a tail. He could be a survivour of Velehk's men, it is a possibility.

She peered into the space, ignoring her shivering. Amélie parted her frozen lips, unsure if calling out to the figure would be a bright idea. After all, she had nothing left.

"...SwiminIce?"

* * *

A story on what I think happened on the location "Pilgrim's Trench." :) also posted on my Wattpad.


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